Cold Marble
by Hellsig Otoupeim
Summary: It wasn't anyone's fault, and that made it so unfair. (But for all Reyna is the Queen of the Legion, the Empress of a New Rome; she is alone on her cold marble throne.)


**Disclaimer** : I don't own any of the characters. They all are Rick Riordan's creation, I am merely trying to play in his footsteps.

* * *

It was nobody's fault –and that made it so unfair.

It wasn't really Jason's fault, that Hera should need him in her plans. It wasn't his fault that he was the thunderbolt of the Roman legion –it wasn't his fault that Reyna did kinda need him. No. It wasn't Jason's fault.

It wasn't the Cherokee girl's fault either, no matter what Reyna would have loved to believe. It wasn't her fault that she was beautiful and kind, not her fault that she fell for the golden boy. It wasn't her fault.

It wasn't Juno's fault –not when one really _looked_ at what had caused this. It wasn't Juno's fault, that she should need Jason in her plans. After all. Her plans had been for the sake of her husband, her marriage –and ultimately her plans had led to the winning of the war. No. It wasn't really Juno's fault.

(Who other than Jason and Perseus could rally the two camps under one banner?)

It wasn't really Jupiter's fault. Well. To a certain degree, it was. If he hadn't been so frivolous, if he hadn't loved Jason's mother… maybe she wouldn't be there, trying to pinpoint whose fault it really was that she had grown so cold and broken. It wasn't really Jupiter's fault, though, that he was like that.

(After all. When you grow up hidden, are carved into the weapon people want you to be and are nourished by hatred right from the start… how can you ever be able to trust someone again?)

It wasn't Octavian's fault that Jason was gone. Of course, she would have preferred it that way. She would have loved for him to be the one responsible for this mess –but he wasn't. In fact, he didn't even have anything to do with all this. As much as it pained Reyna to admit it… it wasn't Octavian's fault. (He was a comfortable scape goat –but the girl was tired of pretending.)

It wasn't even truly Gaea's fault. After all. The primordial didn't _ask_ to be defeated. She didn't want Jason to rally the camps. Although Gaea might have been one of the causes for which Jason was taken away from them _–her,_ it wasn't even the primordial's fault.

(It wasn't really her fault either, that she had lost too much and gained too little. It wasn't really her fault either that she had seen too many backs turned to her, had watched too many people leave with promises they would never uphold. It wasn't really her fault either, that her food made her sick and her mind was crying and her head was aching. It wasn't really her fault either.)

 _Then whose fault was it?_

Whose fault was it, that she should watch him (his blue eyes softening when he spotted Piper, his small, skewed smile he sent when he was slightly embarrassed, his free expression –as if Camp Jupiter had just been confining the true Jason), that Reyna should watch him be happy when she herself had never felt more forlorn? Whose fault was it that Reyna now stood high on a cold, marble throne and yet Jason was more of a king than she ever would be? Whose fault was it that the queen of New Rome should be so broken when their fallen hero was happier than ever?

Whose fault was it, if not Reyna's, that she should wear the weight of the world on her shoulders?

(Atlas knew the weight of the world had not yet landed on the shoulders of a man… but Reyna was no man.)

She was alone, standing at the front of the legions. Their eyes were on her, the silent warriors ready to give their lives for the glory of New Rome. For the eagle standard. For the purple of the emperor.

She was alone, carrying the weight of a thousand lives on her shoulder –but where was he, he who was meant to stand beside her and lift half of this load from her aching frame? Where was he, he who was meant to lean against her as she leant against him? Where was he, he who was meant to raise her up as she raised him up?

Where was he, her co-praetor who had sworn never to leave her side?

He was gone. Gone. _Gone._

(And he had left her behind to uphold the weight of the world)

He was gone –and Reyna knew that he would never come back. Because the Jason standing before her was no longer the Jason she had known. The Jason standing before her was a son of Zeus, the golden boy of the Greeks; not the proud offspring of Jupiter, ready to sacrifice his life for the glory of Rome.

Where had their hero gone?

In the end though, Reyna knows that it is no one's fault. Really. It isn't anybody's fault.

And that makes it so unfair.

Reyna knows she isn't a hero. She knows she isn't half of the stuff Jason was made of –but Reyna is here. She is here, she stands proud before her legions. She is here.

She is here, even when her mind is searching for Jason. She is here, even when her heart stands by him. Reyna is here.

(Her name is carved in the marble. She is the foundation of Rome now.)

Reyna is the queen of the Legion. She is a daughter of Rome. She is the fearless leader they need her to be, she is the never moving rock they rely on. Reyna is the figure head occupying a place meant for two; and whilst she can feel herself being stretched so thin she thinks she will snap…

Reyna is a daughter of Rome and the queen of the Legion.

If he is a hero, then she shall be the legend.

(Heroes die, but legends pass on through memory.)


End file.
